The Detective's 8 lb, 10 oz Surprise (14 page)

He thought of making love to Georgia on the couch in his living room.

He wanted to rush upstairs, rip off her baby-spit-up-scented T-shirt and very slowly explore every inch of her. Hadn't he called himself every name for a jerk for having done that twice already when he couldn't give her what she really needed? He stayed put.

But when the redhead did come out of the restroom and stopped right next to him, propping a hip on the empty seat beside him and flashing him a very white smile, he told her he had to go, have a nice night, and headed for the elevator.

Upstairs in their room, the lights were out and not a peep could be heard. He looked in on Timmy in the bassinet the hotel had provided them with, then took a quilt from the closet and sat down in the club chair across from the bed, wishing he could slip in beside Georgia and sleep curled around her.

Wake up and invite me in
, he willed her, but she didn't stir and he knew staying in the chair was for the best.

He got up and grabbed the extra blanket from the closet and dropped back down in the club chair, trying to get comfortable. He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew the room was pitch-dark and Timmy was beginning to cry.

“Waah. Waah,” Timmy began, and Nick burst out of the chair before the baby could wake Georgia. He settled Timmy in his arms, then headed over to the kitchenette to make him a bottle. “Look at me, the one-handed wonder,” he whispered to Timmy, who quirked a lip at him.

With Timmy having his bottle, Nick sat back down in the chair, watching Timmy's little mouth quirking around the nipple. “I'm glad we found your daddy,” he whispered. “You're in good hands with Dylan. I believe that. And Georgia and I will have your back. No worries, little guy.”

Georgia and I. Interesting. He'd meant that
he'd
have Timmy's back. He. Singular. Lone wolf. Georgia would separately have Timmy's back. Separately.

Timmy finished his bottle and Nick brought him up to his shoulder for a burp. Only took ten seconds. Nick was getting pretty good at this. He stood up and brought Timmy over to the windows, slipping in between the heavy drapes and the filmy white ones, which he pushed aside. Timmy cooed at the lights and action going on outside, even though it was well past midnight. Gently rocking Timmy back and forth in his arms, Nick pointed out the buildings he recognized, then realized the baby's eyes were closed.

He slipped Timmy back in the bassinet, then sat down in the club chair, pulling the extra blanket up to his chest, no idea if he was ever going to fall asleep.

Chapter Thirteen

T
immy's cries woke Georgia at five o'clock. She sat up in bed and stretched, then hopped out and scooped up Timmy, realizing that she felt great. Really great. As in “she got an entire night of sleep” great. Had Timmy slept through the night? At six weeks?

Georgia glanced over at the club chair. Nick was fast asleep, his long, muscular body sprawled out, his face leaning away from her. On the desk beside the chair was a baby bottle with just a drop left in it. Which meant that Nick had given Timmy his 1:00 a.m. bottle.

That was something, she thought as she laid Timmy on the changing pad and quickly changed his diaper, powdering his adorable bottom. She kissed his sweet belly, then changed him into fresh pajamas. “Your daddy will be here soon,” she whispered. She walked Timmy around the room, careful not to wake Nick.

“They'll be buddies.”

She whirled around. Nick stood up and stretched his arms behind his back, his T-shirt rising to show his six-pack abs.

“Who'll be buddies?” she asked.

“Timmy and our baby. They'll only be several months apart.”

She stared at him, surprise bursting inside her. “I didn't think of that, but you're right. They will be buddies.” She smiled, loving the idea.

He seemed to catch himself saying something future-oriented and turned away. “I'll head down to the corner store and pick us up some breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Herbal tea for you?”

She nodded, her smile fading as he left. One step forward, two steps back. He was running away again, like last night. She hadn't heard him come in. She must have been exhausted from the whole day, being back in Houston, facing her past in the form of being here at all, stopping in front of her condo, the discovery of Timmy's father. Realizing that today, she'd be going back to Hurley's to live. She wished she had woken up when he came in; she wouldn't have let him sleep in the chair all night. Or at all.

She wondered why he hadn't slept beside her. Because he didn't want to? Because he knew he'd be leaving Blue Gulch soon and didn't want to make her think otherwise? Or because he hadn't wanted to wake her?

Because she'd stopped his roaming hands earlier, she realized. Or maybe the answer was all of the above.

“Wish I knew for sure,” she told Timmy, taking him into the big bathroom and setting his carrier on the counter while she washed her face and brushed her teeth. A brush through her long hair helped. She glanced at herself and dug around in her toiletry bag for a little concealer and mascara. Then she scooped up Timmy and headed back in the main room, taking him out of his carrier and bringing him over to the window where the morning sun was just beginning to rise over Houston.

The key turned in the door and Nick walked in, Dylan right behind him. “Look who I found pacing in front of the hotel, waiting for it to be six.”

Georgia smiled. “You could have come up anytime. I know how much this morning means to you.”

Beaming, Dylan rushed over to Georgia and she transferred Timmy to his arms. He held him close and spun around. “I'm eighteen. A legal adult. Happy birthday to me,” he said to Timmy. “Best birthday present I'll ever get is knowing no one can take you from me.”

Georgia smiled and put a hand on Dylan's shoulder. “Happy birthday, Dylan.”

“Let's go pick up your aunt and head home, then,” Nick said.

Georgia knew Nick well enough now to notice he'd stiffened at hearing himself call Blue Gulch home.

Maybe he really was leaving. She could work on him all she wanted. But maybe she'd better accept that in a couple of days, Nick Slater would be gone from her life.

* * *

If someone gave Nick a penny for every time he glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure Dylan's old car was still chugging along behind his on the freeway, Nick would be a zillionaire. The boy swore that the car was safe and had been recently inspected, but Nick would have preferred that Timmy and Helen ride with him and Georgia. But Timmy and Aunt Helen were Dylan's family, not his, and so they went with Dylan.

“It feels weird, doesn't it?” Georgia said, peering into the backseat. “I keep expecting to see Timmy's car seat. I keep expecting to hear him fuss.”

“Me too. I don't like that Timmy's in Dylan's car. Though I have to say, he seems like a careful driver,” he added, peering in the rearview mirror. Dylan stayed in the middle lane, going the speed limit, two car-lengths behind the one in front of him, which was Nick's.

“So I guess when we get to your house, I'll pack up my things,” Georgia said.

“Wait, what?” Nick glanced at her. Then he remembered she was only living with him to care for Timmy. “Well, let's get Dylan and his aunt settled into a new home before we make any big changes.”

Georgia glanced at him. “Since the Pattersons are staying with you until they're settled, there won't be room for me. I'll just move into Hurley's. I have my pick of second-floor bedrooms.”

He frowned. He didn't want her to leave. He didn't want her to “just move into Hurley's.” He wanted her in his guest bedroom, maybe forever. Close, but not too close, per his motto.

When Nick pulled into his driveway, Dylan was right behind him. After a call to a real estate agent who handled home rentals in town, the group walked over to Hurley's for lunch, then met the agent at a small, run-down house near the center of town. Dylan had only two requests when it came to a new home in Blue Gulch: it had to be affordable and have a fenced-in yard for the dog he'd always wanted to get, preferably a gentle little mutt from the animal shelter.

Dylan stood on the lawn, Timmy in his arms. He looked up at the house, frowning. “It's not home. I don't even have to go in to know that. I have enough money saved that I can do a little better for my family.”

The real estate agent nodded and they all piled in their cars to drive five minutes in the opposite direction to a yellow Cape Cod on Orchard Street that had the plus of being sparsely furnished. The moment the big group arrived at the second house with its white shutters and flowers lining the stone walkway, Dylan looked up at the house, said, “Now, this feels like home even from the outside.” He looked at his aunt, who smiled in a way that Nick would only call satisfied. After a short tour, Dylan signed a lease.

“I can't believe this,” Dylan said. “From totally hopeless to the opposite. Thank you, Detective Slater. For everything.”

“We're friends. So you call me Nick.”

Dylan beamed, rocking Timmy as they all headed back to their cars. Dylan and his family would stay at Nick's tonight, and Nick would help the family get settled in the new house tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd wake up and Georgia wouldn't be there. Tonight, actually, since Aunt Helen would stay in the guest room and Dylan would take Avery's room. No live-in, round-the-clock nanny required. No...Georgia.

His head hurt. His stomach felt as if he'd eaten something a month old. He needed some sort of plan for how things would work with Georgia now that she'd be moving out. But tonight he'd have guests and tomorrow he'd be busy with the Pattersons and their new home, then finding his sister and talking her out of this foolishness of Nashville and marriage once and for all. He'd happily drive her back to college, where she belonged.

Then he'd figure out if he was moving to Houston, even though he didn't feel much when he was there. It wasn't home anymore. Blue Gulch had morphed back into that these past two years.

But Blue Gulch couldn't be home. Even if it felt like home. Because that didn't make sense. How could it feel like home?

Because Georgia is here. With your baby about to be born in five months. And she's going to need you, you jerk.

Because Dylan and Timmy are here. And that boy is going to need you, you jerk.

Nick glanced at Georgia, who was helping Helen back into Dylan's beat-up old car. What the hell was Nick going to do about all this? He used to be the man with all the answers.

Now he had none.

* * *

When they arrived back at Nick's, Georgia quickly packed up her things and put fresh linens on the bed, since Helen would be taking over the room. As she fluffed the pillows, she glanced out the window and saw Nick handing Dylan his iPad on the patio so Dylan could check out available dogs at the animal shelter. Aunt Helen knocked on the guest room door, and Georgia let her in, her heart heavy.

“All ready for you, Helen,” Georgia said, smiling at the kind, elderly woman.

“That bed sure looks comfortable,” Helen said. “I'd love to take a nap. It's been quite a day.”

Georgia smiled and drew the curtains, then closed the door behind her, her bags like weights in her hands. Nick came in through the sliding glass door to the living room, his gaze on her suitcases. “I guess this is it,” she said to him.

Was that a scowl on his handsome face? “Well, not
it
.”

Georgia raised an eyebrow. “Timmy's moving out tomorrow. You have no need for a live-in nanny.”

“Yeah, but...” He paused. “When Dylan starts working at Hurley's, he'll need a sitter for Timmy. Aunt Helen can't take that on.”

Georgia smiled. “I don't have to live here to babysit Timmy, Nick. Timmy won't live here anymore, remember?”

Nick frowned. “Can't we talk about this later?”

Georgia tilted her head. “About what?”

Nick sucked in a breath and let it out. “About what we are going to do.”

“
We?
I know what
I'm
going to do. I'm going to keep taking my prenatal vitamins. I'm going to bake every morning for Hurley's. I'm going to drive over to Baby Center and think about our little one's nursery. I've always liked the idea of a sea-inspired nursery. What will you be doing, Nick?”

She had no idea if pushing him was smart, but the hell with it. It was what had come out of her mouth. Nick Slater needed to be pushed. A little, anyway. Not too hard. But pushed.

Mr. Whiskers padded over and brushed against Nick's leg; he'd been hiding with all the newcomers.

“I have to make a call,” he said, picking up the cat and giving him a comforting pat before striding out of the room with him.

Her heart clenched. Maybe she'd pushed too far.

* * *

Nick was sitting on the couch in the living room, holding the pillow with the embroidered owl that Georgia had clutched that first day she came here. It was late, past eleven, and the house was quiet. An hour ago he'd passed by Avery's bedroom and heard Dylan reading a Dr. Seuss book to Timmy. He'd stood outside the door, smiling to himself, happy and relieved for Timmy. Tomorrow he'd call Social Services, both in Houston and the more local office he'd dealt with when he first found Timmy on his desk. He'd get everything squared away in the morning, including helping Aunt Helen find local doctors. He wanted the Patterson family to be comfortable here and settled right away so that Dylan could focus on work and Timmy and not have to worry about much else.

He heard a key slide into the lock and bolted up. Georgia? He headed over to the door, but it was Avery who burst inside, tears streaming down her face.

“Avery? What's wrong?” He knew it had to have something to do with Quentin Says.

She started crying so hard she couldn't even get words out. Nick brought her into his bedroom and closed the door, and Avery sank down on the leather love seat under the window.

“Quentin...broke...up...with...meeee,” his sister managed to get out before breaking down into racking sobs. Nick sat down next to her and drew her close. But Avery pulled away, her expression a combination of anger and hurt. “Quentin says he doesn't think we should go to Nashville because he can see that the lack of your blessing is tearing me up and he's noticed I haven't been singing all weekend. He thinks we should postpone our engagement.” She started crying again, and this time she let Nick hold her close, his cheek on the top of her head.

Well, for once, Quentin Says said it right! Not that Nick was enjoying Avery's pain. Not one damned second of it. But she
didn't
have his blessing. He wanted her back at school where she belonged. Not married at eighteen. Not running around Nashville, singing at clubs when she should be in the library, studying and making new friends.

Avery sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “Quentin says that sometimes if you love someone, you have to let them go. But I don't want him to let me go. I want to go to Nashville. I want to be a singer. I want to marry Quentin.”

“Avery, why do you want to marry Quentin? You're so young. You have your entire life ahead of you.” He thought of Dylan, also just eighteen, raising a baby on his own, his future plotted out. Father. Responsibilities. Avery had a beautiful opportunity to explore being herself—not being a wife. Not being a this or that. Learning, growing, changing. Not making heavy, adult decisions.

“I want to marry Quentin because I know he's the one. I want to marry Quentin because he makes me feel like I can do and be anything. I want to marry Quentin because I love him so much my heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. When I'm with Quentin, I feel more me than I've ever felt. He gets me. And I trust him, you know? For a very long time it was just me and Mama. And then just you. Quentin feels like family, Nick. Like you. Like Mama did. He's my family.” She broke down and this time instead of feeling slightly victorious, tears stung Nick's eyes. Dammit.

Dammit!
He sat there for a while, just holding his kid sister, all she'd said sinking into his thick skull. She was wiser than he'd given her credit for, more mature than he wanted to believe. He still didn't like the idea of her marrying so young and chasing a dream, but she loved Quentin for the right reasons. For good reasons.